


let the reason come

by acornpockets



Series: RDHD [2]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Crying During Sex, Deep Throating, Drug Use, F/M, M/M, Oral Sex, Punk Band Au, alcohol use, it'll work out, just sit tight, kieran can top y'all are just cowards, light dom/sub elements, mentions of pegging and other m/f sex, rarepair(?) i guess?, sean "can't top" macguire, this isn't a drag on karen tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 13:02:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21636385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acornpockets/pseuds/acornpockets
Summary: The show had gone well - at least, by their standards. John had a way of hyping up a crowd that usually led to at least a few fights breaking out and the cops being called, but tonight, they’d made it through with little more than a tussle. Most of the boys were still inside, enjoying themselves quite the afterparty.Sean, on the other hand, had just finished having terrible, disappointing sex with one of the girls from their opening band.
Relationships: Kieran Duffy/Sean MacGuire, Sean MacGuire/Karen Jones (mentioned)
Series: RDHD [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1558618
Comments: 1
Kudos: 47





	let the reason come

**Author's Note:**

> Sean's insecure about his sexual ability, and Kieran gives him some advice.

The van is parked behind the venue on an empty one-way street, warmly lit by street lamps and quiet but for the muffled sound of music and revelry coming from inside of the old dive bar. There’s a burst of sound, sudden and almost painfully loud, as the door swings open and Sean steps out into the night, pulling a joint from his pocket and lighting it. 

He walks a little wobbly, his face a little flushed, eyes a little red and watery. His throat feels tight, like he’s about to cry any second, and his fingers tremble when he lifts the joint to his lips.

The show had gone well - at least, by their standards. John had a way of hyping up a crowd that usually led to at least a few fights breaking out and the cops being called, but tonight, they’d made it through with little more than a tussle. Most of the boys were still inside, enjoying themselves quite the afterparty. 

Sean, on the other hand, had just finished having terrible, disappointing sex with one of the girls from their opening band. He’d lasted a few painfully short minutes, laughed it off, and left the building as soon as possible. 

He and Karen are… Difficult. Sean is pretty sure he’s in love with her, and she  _ must  _ like him, if she’s still laughing at his stupid jokes and agreeing to sleep with him, despite constantly ending up disappointed. Sean keeps slinking back to her, trying to be better, but he lacks control. A few quick jerks of his hips and that’s it—

Sean's plan had been to spend the rest of the night sitting in the van feeling sorry for himself, but he forgot about Kieran — and sure enough, there he is, earbuds dangling from his ears as he works, lifting heavy trunks and cases full of their equipment and stacking them neatly in the back of the van. 

Sean swears under his breath. He has no qualms against being seen crying around his friends, but he wouldn't exactly consider Kieran a friend. A surrogate mother, maybe, but not a  _ friend _ . 

He stops in his tracks, shoes scuffing against the loose gravel covering the poor excuse for a parking lot. He lifts a hand to rub his eyes — like that’ll make the tight pressure behind them go away — and exhales. A cloud of skunky smoke fills the air and wafts towards Kieran; even from here, Sean can see his nose twitch.

Kieran lifts his head, furrows his eyebrows as he turns towards Sean. He’s tall and scrawny, with just the barest hint of a beer belly. He has a wiry, patchy beard, puffy eyes, a stern expression and a hooked, beak-like nose. An ugly bastard, but oddly paternal towards the rest of the band, and when he speaks, his voice is cracked and squawky, like he’s going through puberty. 

“You get kicked out already?” he asks Sean. He puts his hands on his hips, narrows his eyes in Sean’s direction, and it’s almost comical how motherly he looks. 

“Naw. Just havin’ a smoke,” Sean answers. He grins, lopsided and goofy like he wasn’t close to tears just moments ago, and lifts his hand, wiggling the joint still pinched between his fingers. “Wanna share?” 

Kieran’s gaze drifts towards the source of the smoke, and Sean could swear he sees the corners of his mouth twitching. 

“Sure,” he says. He turns towards the van, and, as Sean approaches, asks, “You want some beer?” 

“With the night I been havin’, I  _ need  _ one,” Sean answers. Kieran pulls out a six pack of beer, pulls one off for Sean and hands it to him. He breaks one off for himself, cracks the can open with his long, crooked fingers. 

They drink in silence for a few moments. There’s an old, dirty mattress in the back of the van, nestled between their shit and the cases that Kieran’s been loading up. They’d originally gotten it to sleep on, but none of them actually did — it’s covered in a variety of mysterious stains, and John had been caught fucking some girl on it more times than any of them were comfortable with. 

Sean climbs into the back of the van and carefully lowers himself onto the mattress, quite the feat with his hands full and his thoughts already muddled by weed and beer. He manages, and crosses his legs, watching Kieran as he returns to his work.

“You know, I been very good, comin’ out here to smoke,” Sean says. “The others are prolly turnin’ that bar into a fuckin’ hot box.” 

“Why’d you bother comin’ out here, then?” Kieran asks. He lifts another case into the trunk, sliding it into place next to where Sean is sitting. His hand brushes against Sean’s knee, and Sean shifts, taking a swig of beer. 

“Can’t blame me for gettin’ ‘em kicked out if I’m out here, can they?” He grins. Kieran’s just standing at the opening of the van now, swirling his can of beer like it’s a glass of wine. He isn’t looking at Sean, but there’s a small smile on his lips, and it makes Sean feel oddly warm, knowing he put it there.

He needs that, after the night he’s had. 

“Why don’t you take a break from all that?” Sean asks, motioning towards the few cases still lying on the ground. It probably isn’t that important, right? “Could use a smoke, couldn’t ya?” 

Kieran raises an eyebrow. “You do anything  _ but  _ smoke?” 

“Hey!” Sean objects. Kieran chuckles. “It calms me nerves!” 

“ _ Does _ it?” Kieran asks, grinning. “You get nervous after every show, huh? And when we’re driving? And before bed?” 

“ _ Yes _ ,” Sean huffs. Kieran full on laughs at that, and Sean can feel heat creeping across his face. “Oh, shut up!” 

“I’m only playin’.” Kieran takes another long drink, eyeing Sean from where he stands at the foot of the mattress. Sean pats the spot next to him, hand thudding softly on the hard, hollow cushion. 

“Aw... Alright,” Kieran finally says. He climbs into the van, what’s left of the six pack and his own beer clutched in one hand, practically bent in half from his efforts to keep his head from banging against the ceiling. He plops down to Sean’s right, placing his goods on the floor next to them. 

“Comfy?” Sean asks. Kieran just rolls his eyes, motioning to the joint that Sean’s been hogging. 

Sean hands it over, and Kieran takes a long drag from it, eyes falling shut as the smoke fills his lungs. Sean watches him like a man in thrall, tries not to dwell on the fact that their thighs are touching, or that both of their lips touched the same joint. 

Kieran exhales the smoke through his nose, then his mouth, and hands the joint back to Sean. “You really get nervous after every show?” 

Sean shrugs. “Adrenaline gives me the jitters.” 

He considers telling Kieran the real reason he’s out here, about Karen, and eventually decides that there can’t be any harm in it, that his tongue is loose enough already from the beer and the weed, and he might find some comfort in just talking about it. “Bad sex does the job too.”

Kieran makes a noise deep in his throat, like he’s choking. Sean looks up at him, frowning, and when Kieran meets his gaze, he’s got one eyebrow quirked. “Yeah?” he croaks out. 

“ _ Yeah _ ,” Sean echoes, mimicking Kieran’s squawk. Kieran shoves him, playfully, the palm of his hand making firm contact with Sean’s shoulder. Sean laughs, and Kieran joins in. 

Kieran’s smile wavers, and he sobers, suddenly. He lifts the beer to his lips but doesn’t drink from it, just stares ahead pensively, like he’s searching for something, somewhere out in the quiet street.

“... You wanna talk about it?” 

For once, Sean is silent. He doesn’t know if he  _ wants  _ to vent, afraid that his anxieties about Karen will suddenly seem irrational and foolish when exposed to open air. Would Kieran hold it against him? Laugh at him? Why did he even  _ care? _

Sean tilts his head all the way back, drains the rest of his beer in a few long gulps. He holds the can for a long moment, rolling it between his palm and his jeans, slowly crushing the thin aluminum against his thigh.

“Talk about  _ what? _ ” he finally says. His voice is low and strangely steady, and it takes almost all of his effort to keep it that way. Just a little bit of malice seeps through — whether it’s directed at Kieran, or himself, he doesn’t know. “How I couldn’t make a woman come if me goddamn life depended on it?” 

Kieran does a horrible job of hiding his smile, then. His mouth twists with the effort, and he presses the rim of the can against his lips, as if that doesn’t bring more attention to them. 

“I’m sure that’s not true,” he says. Sean snorts. 

“You wanna ask her yourself?” 

“Well — what  _ exactly  _ ain’t you doin’ right?” 

Sean is, once again, painfully aware of how intimate this conversation is. This is private shit, isn’t it? Something he should be talking to a trusted friend about, not his fucking  _ roadie _ . 

But here he is. 

Sean takes another drag from the joint.    
  


“I dunno…” he mumbles. He’s staring at his feet, chin tilted towards his chest like a pouting child. He’s trying not to blush, because goddammit, he shouldn’t be reacting like a teenager to a simple conversation about  _ sex _ . 

“I lose control. I come too soon. My — my dick is fucking  _ useless… _ ” Sean waves his hands, motioning vaguely. “I’m just… Bad at it.” He feels uncomfortably vulnerable, and can’t bear to even  _ look  _ at Kieran. Sean doesn’t think he can handle his reaction, regardless of whether it’s positive or negative or if he doesn’t care at all. 

He’s not at all prepared for Kieran’s response. 

“I’m sure that ain’t true.” 

It’s then that Sean looks at him. Kieran’s actually drinking his beer now, and takes a deep swig.

“I mean, your dick probably ain’t  _ useless _ .” 

Sean snorts, rolling his eyes. 

“I’m  _ serious _ ,” Kieran insists. “I mean, maybe you just need to try somethin’ different.” 

Sean grumbles, sitting back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Dunno anything  _ different _ .” 

Sean can feel Kieran sigh, sees him pass his hand over his face out of the corner of his eye. 

“Alright, well…” he begins, trailing off, searching again. “Maybe your problem’s bein’ on top.” 

Sean frowns. “What d’you mean?” 

“I  _ mean… _ ” Kieran shifts, straightening up, then turning to face Sean. He’s twisted around to look at him, one arm holding himself up while the other drapes over his lap. He fixes Sean with an intense stare, and Sean feels paralyzed by it. 

“You ever try eatin’ her out?” he asks. “That mouth good for anythin’ other than talkin’?” 

Sean splutters. “I-”

“Hell, you ever try lettin’  _ her  _ fuck  _ you? _ ” 

For a moment, Sean’s actually stunned into silence. He stares at Kieran like he just suggested he sprout wings and fly to the moon.

“Ex _ cuse _ me?” 

Kieran just stares back at him. Color starts to spread across his face, like he’s only just realized what he said, and he turns away, staring down at his mostly-empty beer can where it’s balanced on his knee. 

“F-forget I said anything…” he mumbles, and Sean suddenly panics. 

“No, I didn’ mean ta—” Kieran glances back at him, and Sean falters, but continues. “I didn’t know that was even… A thing…”

He really hadn’t, but now that he thinks about it, it makes sense — women fucked each other, and dildos are a thing, and if men like taking it from other men, surely some of them must like taking it from women, too—

“Wait… You done that?” Kieran says nothing, doesn’t even look at him, and that has Sean grinning. “You  _ done  _ that!” 

For a long moment, Kieran maintains his silence. He lifts the beer can to his lips one last time, tilting his head all the way back and desperately lapping at the dregs. He takes his time, too, and when he finally finishes, there’s little droplets of beer clinging to his patchy mustache. 

Sean is still staring at him, positively beaming. 

Kieran huffs. The rim of his empty can is still pressed against his bottom lip, and he glares over it at Sean. 

“ _ Shut up _ .”

“Hey! I ain’t judgin’ ya. I just never heard of it, is all,” Sean puts out the joint, which has been forgotten, filling the air with pungent smoke, and rests it on the rim of his crushed up can. He inches closer, and Kieran scrunches up his shoulders.

  
“What?”

“ _ Well _ — yer the one brought it up,” Sean says. He leans forward, and Kieran seems to be trying to make himself smaller, the closer he gets. “And you got the experience wit’ it…” 

Kieran eyes Sean with a look of apprehension. His brows are furrowed, and he’s frowning, with that damn can still pressed against his mouth. “What, you want me to tell you about it?” 

Sean doesn’t even hesitate. “Yeah!” 

Kieran groans. He crosses his arms over his chest, still holding the can, so it ends up pressed against his bicep. 

“Alright, well…” he begins. Sean wiggles back into a sitting position, but still leans forward, and Kieran absolutely refuses to look at him. “After I moved out of my parents’ place, I lived with this… Older lady… For a while. And, well…” Kieran pauses, scrunching up his nose, and stares ahead like he’s suddenly deep in thought. Then, he looks at Sean. 

“You ever been fucked by a  _ dude  _ before?” 

Sean can feel heat creep up his neck and flood his face with color. Normally, he’d be panicking over the assumption — it’s not like he’s  _ hiding  _ the fact that he’s into dudes, but he isn’t exactly broadcasting it — but he’s invested himself too deeply in this new endeavor to back out now. 

If Kieran’s able to be vulnerable, then so is he. 

Sean shakes his head, and answers, very softly, “... Not proper.” 

Thankfully, Kieran doesn’t react with judgement. Sean watches him turn back, search the air for words again, and the implication of the question dawns on him — that Kieran’s into men, too, has  _ been  _ with men before, and is trying to compare the two in a way that Sean will understand.

“Well, it’s… They’re similar. But not,” Kieran says, drawing Sean back to the present. “It doesn’t really feel the same as a real dick. Still feels like shitting backwards when it starts out…” 

He pauses, inhales, and shudders as he breathes out. Sean is acutely aware of Kieran’s every movement, every change in the way he sits. Subtly, Kieran crosses his legs, squeezes his thighs together; his arms are still crossed, but his formerly defensive stance has changed into something different, like he’s  _ holding  _ instead of guarding himself. 

“They find that... That s-spot, and it’s just… Just fuckin’…” He shakes his head, lifting his free hand and fiddling with his bottom lip. Sean stares at him, just as stunned. Kieran shrugs. “Feels better than you expected.” 

Sean doesn’t know what to say, until something pops up in the mental fog conjured by Kieran’s words. It bugs him — and he doesn’t want to bring it up, doesn’t want to dispel that cloud so soon after it’s gathered, but he can’t help it…

“What’s she get out of it?” he asks. Kieran turns his head, blinks at him. 

“What?” he asks, not so much out of disbelief, as much as the fact that he’s still suspended in that cloud, that it’s still sticking inside his nose and his lungs as much as the fog of weed smoke that surrounds them, drifting out of the open doors of the van, slow and lazy. 

“What’s she get out of it,” Sean repeats. “You know, because it’s — if it’s not  _ her  _ dick, how does she…” Sean motions vaguely. His brain feels heavy; the awkwardness of the question and the moment that follows sit heavy on his shoulders, makes his tongue feel too big for his mouth. 

“Oh.” Kieran squints, frowning again. “I guess — I dunno, it’s a give and take sort of thing. It doesn’t end with her just pegging you.” 

_ Pegging _ . The word sears itself into Sean’s brain the moment he hears it. “It doesn’t?”

Kieran nods “Yeah... And honestly, maybe that’s why you’re having problems with… With your girl,” he says, motioning towards Sean. “Sometimes your dick isn’t gonna be enough to make a girl come. But you — it ain’t — you got  _ other  _ parts, don’t ya?” 

Their eyes meet. Sean stares at him. “Like my mouth,” he says.

“Yeah,” Kieran answers. “Like your mouth.” 

Sean is suddenly aware of how close they are, that he’s still leaning in and Kieran has done the same, pulled towards him like the tension is gravity. 

And there  _ is  _ tension — drawn tight between them, like a rope pulled tighter and tighter, that neither of them had noticed until it started to  _ squeeze _ . 

Sean reaches forward — not for Kieran, but for the empty can he’s still holding. That tension is almost unbearable, making Sean’s heart pound in his chest in that same terrifying way it does right after a show and doesn’t stop until he smokes. He can’t keep feeding into it; he  _ needs  _ to look away, to divert all of that focus towards something, anything else. 

It only works a little. The movement draws Kieran’s attention to the same spot, and their fingers brush together when Sean takes the can from him. When he looks up, their faces are mere inches away from each other. They study each other like specimens; time’s stopped. Sean is actually  _ shaking _ with nerves, and feels like he’s going to die if he doesn’t do something about it. Something, anything, to make time move forward again—

He doesn’t know who it is that closes the gap between them. Sean doesn’t know anything in that moment, other than how Kieran tastes, like cheap weed and cheaper beer and faintly of cigarettes, how his beard scratches against Sean’s skin. It’s not even heated — their bodies are barely touching, but for the brush of their fingers where their hands rest on the dirty mattress beneath them, or where Sean’s knee is pressed against Kieran’s thigh — but it’s electric enough to stun the thoughts out of both of their minds, and whatever they were talking about before is forgotten. 

Sean is the first to make it  _ hungry _ . His fingers find Kieran’s jacket, make a fist around the worn, oversized flannel, and his other hand settles on Kieran’s thigh. Sean kisses like John does, desperate and sloppy and, frankly, gross, and now is no exception — but Kieran surprises him by meeting it with that same enthusiasm, with tongue and teeth and  _ tongue _ , with his hand settling on the back of Sean’s neck and his long, bony fingers pushing through Sean’s hair. 

They’re stuck like that, drowning, until Kieran grabs Sean’s wrist, moves his hand from his thigh and presses it right against his zipper. 

They part, and Sean opens his eyes to Kieran staring at him, his gaze so intensely focused that Sean whimpers.

“You ever sucked a dick before?” he asks, bluntly. The squawkiness in his voice is gone with his hesitation, replaced by a steady, gravelly depth that Sean has only ever heard when he was being scolded.

“Yeah,” Sean croaks out. It’s not a lie, but the realization of what’s happening has his stomach churning with anxiety. Because he has, all but twice, before he was even old enough to drink—

He’s staring at Kieran’s zipper, is hyperaware of how his hand is pinned there, how Kieran is already half hard in his jeans. The thin metal is rough against his palm, like tiny teeth, and the anxiety and the  _ need  _ both have Sean’s lip wobbling like a child about to cry—

Kieran’s other hand splays across the back of his head, steady and oddly comforting, and he guides Sean’s eyes back towards his own. Kieran's eyes are dark, pupils blown and heavy, but his brow is furrowed with concern as he studies Sean, searching. His gaze grounds Sean to where he is, and as Kieran stares into him Sean can practically hear his other question, hidden beneath the first —  _ will you?  _

“ _ Yeah _ ,” Sean repeats, and his voice is barely a whisper. 

Kieran’s hand half guides, half follows Sean’s head between his thighs, and Sean’s mind is blank again by the time the hand on Kieran’s dick is replaced by his face. The teeth of his zipper are still cold and a little sharp when it's pressed against his nose, his lips, but it’s not unpleasant, especially not when Sean can feel Kieran’s dick straining against it. 

For a long moment, Kieran just holds Sean there, with his face pressed against the bulge in his jeans. It’s like Sean can feel every inch of him through the thick fabric; every breath is him inhaling the smell of musk and sweat and  _ Kieran _ , and he already feels drunk on it. 

Sean’s eyelids are heavy, lips already parted when he looks up, finds Kieran’s gaze again — and something about the  _ look  _ he finds there drives him to stick his tongue out and drag it along Kieran’s zipper, lude and filthy. 

Kieran curses — a soft, tight, barely audible  _ “fuck”  _ — and the sound alone is enough to send sparks shooting down Sean's spine to tingle between his thighs. Sean just mouths at him through his jeans, pressing his tongue against the clothed shaft of Kieran’s dick, sucking around it until there’s a dark, wet patch where his mouth was. 

Kieran’s fist has been tightening in Sean’s hair, gripping, tugging, pushing. Kieran shudders, his hips rocking almost involuntarily, and Sean becomes relentless, needy and desperate, when all he can do in response is mouth and paw at the zipper pressed against his face. 

“ _ Please _ ,” Sean breathes, the word devolving into a whimper the moment it leaves his lips. His mouth feels raw from the rough texture it’s been pressed against; everything seems brighter, more intense, and it feels like the only relief Sean will find from it will be Kieran’s dick in his mouth. 

“You want more?” Kieran asks. His voice cracks a little, but nothing about it’s shakiness makes Sean think he’s unsure or nervous. He’s being corny, absolutely, but it's clear that the tremble in his voice is the result of his thrill bubbling up. He wants this, he’s  _ excited  _ for this, and that’s something Sean didn’t know he needed so badly from someone until now. 

Sean can only nod. He fumbles with Kieran’s zipper again, manages to get a hold on it and fumble with it for a moment before Kieran swats his hand away. Sean whines, but the sound dies in his throat when Kieran takes hold of his zipper instead. 

"Alright…" Kieran practically coos, and it's strangely soothing, even as he uses his hold on Sean's hair to move him, tugging sharply to lift Sean’s head up and out of the way. "It's alright, baby, hold on…"

Sean watches Kieran's hand for what feels like forever, but Kieran doesn't drag it out, simply unzips his pants and frees his cock, holds it in front of Sean's face like an offering.

Sean doesn't need to be told — he opens his mouth, sticks out his tongue, and Kieran guides his cock towards it. Even with the hand in his hair, holding his head up, Sean cranes his neck, drags his tongue over the pink, leaking head of Kieran's dick and licks up the bitterness that's gathered there. 

Sean does make an effort — takes Kieran into his mouth, tries to bob his head, suck his cheeks in like what's been done to him so many times before — but it feels performative, not quite right, and Sean feels too delirious and intoxicated to do much more than that. 

Kieran tightens his grip on Sean's hair, guides him off of his cock to rest his head against his thigh. His free hand comes down to stroke Sean's cheek, to practically cradle Sean's face in his hands, dragging a thumb over Sean’s reddened, spit-slicked lips.

Sean whines, and Kieran laughs, the sound low and pleasant and comforting. "You're  _ needy _ , aren't you?" he asks, and Sean glares up at him, opens his mouth to object — but before he can, Kieran is guiding his cock back into his mouth. 

Kieran's hips rock slowly, and the drag of his cock sliding between Sean's lips is almost agonizing. Sean squirms, wiggling his hips, desperately rutting against the mattress where his body hangs over the edge of it. 

It's sudden — Kieran's grip on Sean's hair tightens and yanks, and his cock is forced down Sean's throat, until Sean's nose is buried in the coarse, dark hair at the base of his shaft. 

Sean's immediate reaction, in spite of himself, is to squirm. He gags, the sound harsh and hacking, but Kieran's hand is settled firmly on the back of his neck, holding him in place. 

Time stretches on for what feels like an eternity of Sean choking on Kieran's dick. His hand finds Kieran's shirt, tightening around the fabric like he's holding on for dear life. He feels like he could die like this, that he  _ would _ die like this, suspended on nothing but empty space and Kieran's cock. 

Then Kieran's grip loosens, and he eases Sean, gasping, off of his dick. "Fuck…" Kieran breathes. His thumb comes up to wipe at Sean's bottom lip, breaking the string of saliva that stretches between Sean's mouth and the head of his cock. "You look so fucking good with a dick in your mouth…"

Sean can barely speak. His chest heaves as he catches his breath, and he rests with his cheek smushed against Kieran’s thigh, staring up at him with trembling lips and heavy lidded eyes and all the admiration in the world. 

Kieran’s looking down at him with a dumb, dopey smile on his face, like he’s discovered something new and wonderful. He keeps the tip of his cock pressed against Sean’s lips, so Sean’s every exhaled breath falls hot and heavy against it, like he’s using that to try and tell when he’s ready to breathe again. 

Kieran eases him on slowly this time, a slow drag until his dick is barely brushing against the back of Sean’s throat. Sean groans.

Kieran falls silent. Sean can feel the head of his dick bumping against the roof of his mouth, the warm, solid velvet of his shaft against his tongue. There’s spit dribbling from Sean’s lips, down his chin. 

Sean wiggles his hips, almost involuntarily, a slow grind against the mattress beneath him. The movement catches Kieran’s attention, and he eyes Sean’s hips with a soft tut. 

“I been ignorin’ you, huh?” Kieran says. Sean just stares up at him, clinging to his every word, but unable to answer. “You come to me complainin’ how you cum too fast, and you’re already wantin’ more?” 

Kieran stares down at him, intense and unwavering, as though he’s trying to capture the image of Sean in his mind. 

“You gotta wait,” he says. Sean whimpers, but stops his squirming; Kieran’s tone isn’t harsh, but it’s enough to pin Sean in place more than any physical action could. “You keep being good for me, and I’ll take care of you, alright?” 

Sean does nothing. His eyes burn, his throat burns; the strain of dick, pressed against his zipper, is almost painful. He feels delirious and heavy, hanging onto Kieran’s every word, desperate for relief. 

Sean barely notices when Kieran’s grip on his hair eases, until Kieran’s dick slides from between his lips. Kieran cups Sean’s chin, tilting his face upwards, so their eyes meet. 

“ _ Alright? _ ” he repeats, and, realizing he was looking for an answer, Sean nods. 

“Good boy…” The words rumble out of Kieran, warming Sean to his core.  _ Good boy— _

Kieran has Sean’s face practically cradled in his hands, Sean leaning into his touch like a cat. Kieran’s thumb brushes over his jaw, his cheek; drags over spit-slicked lips before pushing between them. Sean latches onto it almost immediately, almost too eagerly, slowly sucking. Kieran tastes of grease and sweat, but the action is strangely soothing. 

Even in his hazy state and inexperience, Sean knows the way Kieran’s body tenses, the way his breath quickens and hitches in his throat. Sean feels half delighted and half distraught — because the sight of him alone is enough to hasten Kieran towards finishing, but it isn’t fair. Sean needs to show Kieran he can be good, needs to  _ make  _ him feel good,  _ it isn’t fair- _

Sean tilts his head back, letting Kieran’s thumb slide from between his lips, with every intention of taking the initiative himself. The moment Kieran’s thumb leaves Sean’s lips, it’s being replaced by his dick, and Kieran is cumming down Sean’s throat.

“F-uck—” Kieran hisses and groans. His grip is vicelike in Sean’s hair, yanking forward, burying himself to the hilt, and the pain and stretch is enough to cause tears. But Sean is still warm and open and pliant — eyes half lidded, drooling around Kieran’s dick, drunk on the distantly familiar, salty taste of someone’s cum at the back of his throat. 

“Good boy, baby, fuck—” Kieran was half hunched over Sean, his hands spread like claws across the back of his skull, hips bucking — hasty, erratic jerks like a man being electrocuted. He settles, heaving, just as Sean begins to gag. 

Kieran sits back, carefully guides his dick out of Sean’s mouth, letting it fall limp against his thigh. Sean gasps, cum spilling over his lips, but Kieran’s hand is on him again, grabbing him by the chin and forcing him to look up. 

“Swallow it,” he says, with that same firm voice and burning gaze. Sean doesn’t even hesitate. “Good boy…”

They sit like that for a while. Kieran’s grip softens, his fingers settling, barely, against Sean’s throat, rubbing slow, sweet circles into his neck. Sean’s head sags against his thigh, face burning, throat aching, lips still wet and parted. 

“You okay?” Kieran asks him, his voice returned to usual, if not a little hoarse. Sean just nods, and Kieran frowns, taps his thumb against Sean’s chin to get his attention. “What is it, baby? What do you need?” 

Sean knew what he needed. He needed to be touched and held, for Kieran to stay there with him and not ever leave, to get some relief from the agonizing strain in his jeans.

“Please,” Sean croaks out. His throat is sore, his voice tight; pressure is building, burning, behind his eyes. He can’t get the words out. Can’t just say what he wants, what he  _ needs _ , just can’t fucking say it. “ _ Please _ , Kieran—”

Kieran is already moving. He cradles Sean’s face in his hands like he’s the most precious, fragile thing in the world, carefully repositioning him so his head is resting on the mattress instead of his thigh. With Sean lying on his back, Kieran drapes himself over him, one knee nestled between his thighs and both hands still holding his face. 

“Shh, it’s alright, you’re alright,” Kieran murmurs. His thumbs drag over Sean’s cheeks, collecting the desperate, salty tears that had settled there. “I promised I’d take care of you, yeah?” 

Sean nods, his lips pressed together into a thin line, struggling to keep the sound inside. He’s always been embarrassed by how vocal he is, how ridiculous he gets when he’s like this, but he can’t help it — not any more than he can help his need to speak, or to breathe. 

“Need you,” he lets out. Another attempt, and Sean’s voice leaves him absolutely wrecked. His hands are fisted in Kieran’s shirt, as if that alone will keep him in place. “I need — you  _ know _ , you fuck.” 

Kieran’s laugh is airy and breathless. His lack of response urges Sean to roll his hips downwards, grinding against Kieran’s thigh, teeth gritted with frustration. 

“ _ Please— _ ”

“Okay, okay…” Kieran concedes, impossibly calm. He reaches between them, takes his sweet fucking time undoing Sean’s fly — at least, it feels to Sean as though Kieran draws out the act of freeing those two buttons from their loops, of slowly dragging his zipper down. 

“ _ Kieran _ ,” Sean practically sobs, tugging at the soft fabric bunched up in his fists. 

“I got you,” Kieran murmurs. He tugs down Sean’s briefs just enough to free his dick, finally takes it into his hand, and if Sean wasn’t brainless already, his mind leaves him the moment Kieran touches him. 

“Fuck-  _ fuck _ , Kieran, you- you’re—” Sean shouts and sobs, choking down summer air still heavy with the smell of weed and beer and sex. He feels the scratch of Kieran’s beard against his neck, along with the softest touch of his lips in between gently uttered assurances. 

“You’re so good, so good for me, Sean, such a good boy…” He goes on like that, repetitive as the motion of his hand. Sean fits easily into his palm, and Kieran’s hand twists upward along the length of it, his thumb dragging over Sean’s leaking head before starting over again. Sean has devolved into a whimpering, sobbing mess, barreling towards orgasm. 

He comes quickly — he always does — but he feels as though this is the hardest he’s cum in his entire life. The sound that leaves Sean is guttural, broken, as he shudders through it. His back arches, his hips bucking upwards, towards Kieran’s hand, practically fucking his fist as he cums. 

Sean settles, chest heaving, with Kieran’s hand still wrapped around him. Kieran moves to wipe his hand off — Sean winces and hisses in response to the accidental friction — going for his shirt, at first, but quickly deciding otherwise. Hastily, he wipes his hand off on the mattress instead. 

Sean watches him with a lazy sort of fascination, waiting patiently, still clinging, loosely, to the edge of his shirt. Sean feels fuck-drunk and giddy, his bones gone to jelly, probably couldn’t stand if he tried. 

Kieran finally looks back at him. Their eyes meet, and they stare at each other as though in silent amazement for another little eternity. 

Sean grins. “Who knew I was so needy, huh?” 

Kieran blinks, takes a moment before mirroring Sean’s grin. His laugh comes out raspy, crunches like dead leaves in autumn. 

“Yeah, who knew?” 

Sean falls asleep beneath a blanket of lazy kisses and Kieran’s body, still nestled between his legs. He falls into heavy, dreamless sleep, surrounded by tender, tingling warmth. 

He wakes up alone. The back of the van is filled with the blue, dark-light of morning, closed up and properly packed. Kieran must have finished working — if it weren’t for the cases neatly packed away, Sean could almost believe that he’d never been there at all. 

He rolls over, folds one arm beneath his head, and falls back to sleep, suddenly aware of a thousand new aches and stains. 


End file.
